


Cute

by Guardian Of The Lotus (DistantStorm)



Series: Fictober 2019 [15]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Crushes, F/F, The Red War, Titan, flirtation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/Guardian%20Of%20The%20Lotus
Summary: Sloane finds exactly what Amanda's looking for.Written for day 15 of the Fictober 2019 Challenge on Tumblr: "Now that's what I'm talking about!"





	Cute

"There's gotta be somethin' useful in here," The Shipwright says to herself, rubbing the back of her hand over her brow. The sound of scrap clanking against the damp deckplates and the tinkling of bits and bolts at the bottom of the supply crate drown out the sound of rain for once.**  
**

Sloane enters the long-abandoned storeroom to a comical sight: Amanda, rear in the air, on her tiptoes, bent over a railing, digging through a crate, things being tossed over her shoulder haphazardly. There were apparently piles based on… something, the Deputy Commander was sure, because one hunk of metal went left, and then something that looked like a beacon went straight back, rolling across the metallic floor to collide harmlessly with her boot.

She crosses her arms. Amanda carries on grumbling and grouching about Golden Age garbage, using her arms and completely abandoning her feet to lean over to the next crate in the stack. 

When it goes on for another few minutes, Sloane intervenes, not having the Commander's infinite patience.

"Holliday?" She ventures.

Clearly the other woman didn't know she was there, because something falls in what is not the direction of one of the Shipwright's messy piles, and Amanda goes flailing over the railing and into the crate, unleashing a plume of dust, bolts, and assorted circuitry flying out around the edges of the now overfilled container.

Amanda sighs. It's muffled, considering she did land on her head, but her exasperation is evident. Considering she'd taken off her jacket, and she could feel the sting of copper wires poking her arm, she'll probably be asking for a tetanus shot from triage later.

Some very displeased rustling later, Amanda hollers sharply, "Deputy Commander, ain't nobody ever tell you not to sneak up on a girl when she's tinkerin'?"

More articles go bouncing out of the crate as Amanda tries to swing herself out of it. What manages to happen is that she tips it - and herself - backwards onto the floor with a great clattering thud.

Rushing to vault over the railing, a very concerned Sloane is looming over her in seconds. "Are you-"

Green eyes look up at her, irritated, a pink flush stretched across the freckled expanse of her nose and cheeks. "Yeah," She grumbles. "Help me up, wouldya?"

Sloane offers her a hand, and Amanda extends hers. There's a cord wrapped around it that's somehow also tangled in her hair, little bits of wire sticking up and tangled in blonde. She closes her mouth and purses her lips, but a sputtering sound comes out.

"Aww, c'mon, it can't be that bad-"

Amanda reaches for her head to remove the offending wire and three bolts find their way out of the bandana tied around her arm, one of which bounces off her cheek before rolling off into the abyss.

Sloane giggles, not girlishly, but just as unbidden, unburdened for just a moment of their current state. It's like something sweet, like milk chocolate or hot fudge. Something thick and beautiful. Amanda watches her mouth, for what feels like just a moment.

Apparently it isn't, because Sloane's concerned look is back, and the bulkier woman crouches in front of her, untangling some of the materials clinging to the rest of her. "Did you hit your head?"

"Nah," Amanda says. She did, but not hard enough to do damage. Too many wires and what not in the way. "Jus' thinkin' about your laugh," She admits, unashamedly honest.

Sloane's eyebrows furrow, pulling together, but her gaze is bright, crisp and sparkling, "Oh?" She asks, not sure how to feel.

Amanda nods twice. "Yeah," And then tilts her head to the side. She'd like to get her ailing tuchus off these cold deckplates before they have what is a heart-to-heart they're not going to be able to finish. Zavala hasn't heard from them in at least thirty. He'll be clomping through halls in a tizzy if both of them don't check in soon. "It's cute," She finishes, with a cheeky smile.

Sensing the shift to something safer, Sloane shakes her head ruefully. Flirtation is safe. It doesn't scream 'confession time because this might be the end of us,' like a heartfelt conversation would. There'll be time for that. They have to believe it. They have to hope.

"That's not something you hear everyday."

"What?"

"Cute." The Deputy Commander gestures down to herself. "What part of this screams cute?"

Amanda reaches up and Sloane's hand shoots out, larger palm swallowing Amanda's and yet thick, strong fingers still wrap around her wrist. She barely comes up to the Titan's nose, her eyes level with Sloane's lips. Even so, she lifts a hand up to the other woman's cheek, patting the wind-weathered skin there and letting her thumb graze the corner of her mouth.

“Your laugh.” She smirks. “Makes me think of flyin’ and sundaes an’-”

“Flyin’?” Sloane slurs back, confused.

“Bein’ happy.” Amanda shrugs, lessening it (but not really, considering how pensive Sloane’s become) by dusting off her shoulders and letting more bits and baubles of ages past bounce away. “But it’s cute. Y’look cute doin’ it.”

“That’s not a word…” She trails off, looking strangely conflicted. “People don’t use that word to describe me.”

“I’m not ‘people,’” Amanda reminds her, with a curl of dexterous fingers. “I’m just… I dunno, me?”

“Yeah.” There’s something breathless to the way Sloane says it, like as if she’s trying to see herself in reverse, however Amanda sees her and it’s just struck her harder than a thundering fist ever could. She recovers from her stupor quickly. “Damn straight you are,” She says, every bit the in-control second-in-command she’s supposed to be. Amanda grins back. 

Their moment’s broken just in time, when both their radios go off in a tinny, synced echo. “Sloane. Holliday. Report.”

“All clear, Sir,” Amanda drawls in that way of hers. The way that’s all child telling their parent to calm down, not to make a mountain of a molehill, everything is just fine. At this point, Zavala would burst if she said as much, but the tone seems to soothe. There’s comfort in old and familiar, in these trying times. Sloane busies herself with something, looking down at the pile of junk just out of Amanda’s reach and picking up things she doesn’t understand before setting them aside. It’s a focus tactic of her own. Zavala will likely want to talk to her next. “Jus’ lost track of time looking for the- hey, wait.”

There’s a sharp inhale from Zavala, cross-comms, but Amanda bowls right over whatever he’s about to bark about a suspected threat. He thinks everything is a threat these days - and it is, but Amanda’s got bigger fish to fry at this very second.

“Sloane, you magnificent monolith, gimme that thing in your hand.” There’s a pause as she hands it over. “Been lookin’ for this thing for hours. Those dang Golden Age techies are as bad as maintainin’ inventory as we are. That was not the right bin according to their records, by a long shot.”

“You got into their encryption?” Zavala asks, impressed.

“A’course, I did, Zavala,” Amanda rolls her eyes, and she’s certain he can see it, in his mind’s eye for her tone. “Deputy Commander, gimme my jacket.”

Zavala clears his throat.

“Don’t gimme that, Sir, I ain’t one’a your military folk, an’ you ain’t gonna get me talkin’ like one now.” Sloane hands her the beaten bomber, hands gentle on the well-worn canvas.

The Shipwright pulls out a software chip of some kind from a breast pocket, drops onto a crate, and begins to fiddle with it. The sound of errant clicking and murmurs - Amanda has a knack for talking to her work, as if encouragement will coax it into functionality - and suddenly there’s a little beep, and a resounding echo down the hall.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” She whoops, hopping to her feet. “Zavala, me ‘n yer Deputy will see you in five.” Rambling as much to herself as to the rest of them, she continues, “This baby’s gonna help me get at least some’a these systems back online.”

“What is it?” Zavala queries through static. 

Sloane leans over Amanda’s shoulder, her hand warm on the Shipwright’s arm. Amanda looks up into that dark gaze and grins. “It’s an inventory scanner. Guessin’ most of ‘em dropped into the sea during the collapse. But this baby seems to know where everything is, an’ I bet there’s some mapping software I can get from it. At least we’ll know where to try for supplies rather than runnin’ all over through baddies.”

“Excellent work, Holliday,” The Commander intones, sounding a bit happier than when they’d left on this impromptu equipment expedition. “Make your way back.”

“Roger that,” Sloane chirps, looking down at Amanda all sorts of impressed. “You’re gonna win this thing for us, Holliday.”

“Damn sure gonna try,” She quips back, lifting up on her tiptoes-

“Amanda-”

-to peck Sloane on the lips. “Good find, cutie.”

The eyeroll Amanda gets in response is extraordinary. “Alright, that’s where I draw the line,” Sloane says evenly, even though she’s licking her lips like she’s savoring the taste. “I liked ‘magnificent monolith.’”

“Thought you might,” Amanda supposes, eyes sparking, playfully. “Got one better for ya: How about ‘kiss me again?’”

Sloane wraps her arms around her. “I think that’s the best one yet.”


End file.
